


His Favorite Color

by mightbewriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, and hermione knows what will help, art inspired drabble, draco has had a long week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbewriting/pseuds/mightbewriting
Summary: A few minutes after midnight she heard the distinct pop of Draco’s apparation in the other room. At an almost comical volume, the enormous breath he heaved floated through the hallway and into the bedroom where Hermione now stood, ready to impress.“Hermione?” he asked. Gods, even his voice sounded haggard.“In the bedroom,” she called, propping a hand on her hip as she waited for him to appear.And when he did, one hand raking through his hair and a look of pure fatigue on his face, he froze.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 19
Kudos: 492
Collections: Bitch Wellington: Kumatan's Smuff Squad





	His Favorite Color

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kumatan0720](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kumatan0720).



> This little drabble was inspired by an amazing bit of art by kumatan0720: [see the art here!](https://kumatan0720.tumblr.com/post/613072615189413888/midnight-surprise-special-thanks-to)

Draco had an unreasonable preference for the color green. His Slytherin loyalties ran deep, disturbingly so, Hermione sometimes thought. This fact felt especially salient when he couldn’t seem to resist commenting on her choice of red nail lacquer as if representing her own house in such a way was a silly and juvenile endeavor. She could have throttled him then and there.

And the irony of such an opinion was utterly lost on him. Sometimes Hermione wondered if he was even aware of his own bias at all, or if it was some kind of subconscious conditioning drilled into the minds of impressionable first years amidst a backdrop of green-tinged lake water, moss-colored algae growing on dungeon stone slabs, and offensively emerald common room furniture designed to drive appreciation for the rest of the color spectrum out of a young Slytherin’s mind.

All this was to say; it made the man predictable. 

As such, on the heels of a work week that left Draco increasingly agitated at the end of each day, enough so that the comment about her nail lacquer nearly drove Hermione to an Unforgivable, she opted for a straight shot to his libido in an effort to level his mood: his preferred color palette.

She bade him farewell as he left for a client dinner in Diagon Alley, the type of wining and dining and schmoozing that his pureblood sensibilities had groomed him for. And even rife with frustration over a long week he wanted to end, he nevertheless managed to look every bit the part of a savvy businessman in his dark three-piece suit. His ability to look so good, even exhausted and overworked, would have annoyed Hermione if she didn’t directly benefit from the view.

No more than three hours, he’d insisted. And Hermione took that commitment as fact, both owing to his near inhuman punctuality and his complete disinterest in the event as a whole.

She took the first two hours to read, enjoying the pleasantness of an evening to herself with a glass of wine and a book, a rarity in her married life. In the third hour, she selected her weapons by way of lingerie. If one ever needed incontrovertible evidence of Draco’s green-leaning proclivities, one need look no further than Hermione’s drawer of unmentionables. From her bras to her knickers to her sexy little bodysuits reserved for special occasions such as the evening ahead of her, it was clear that the man she bought her pretty underthings for had a favorite color.

She slipped on a deep green bodysuit with a dangerously low vee cut down the back and allowed herself a fluttering moment of excitement. She might have come up with her plans for seduction as a solution to her husband’s week-long agitation, but as the third hour of his dinner wound to a close, her careful planning bled into indistinct desire. She wanted her husband, simple as that.

But the third hour came and went with such surprise that Hermione didn’t even have it in her to feel frustrated. If his dinner ran beyond his personal deadline he would certainly be more upset about it than she was. So she lounged on the bed with her book, feeling salacious and on display, waiting for his return. At the passage of the fifth hour, nearing midnight, Hermione resisted her own impulse towards annoyance, knowing his would be worse. At this point her biggest enemy wasn’t irritation; it was exhaustion.

A few minutes after midnight she heard the distinct  _ pop _ of Draco’s apparation in the other room. At an almost comical volume, the enormous breath he heaved floated through the hallway and into the bedroom where Hermione now stood, ready to impress.

“Hermione?” he asked. Gods, even his voice sounded haggard.

“In the bedroom,” she called, propping a hand on her hip as she waited for him to appear.

And when he did, one hand raking through his hair and a look of pure fatigue on his face, he froze. The hand in his blond locks dropped and his mouth slipped open as his gaze dragged a tactile path across every inch of Hermione’s skin, exposed or otherwise. He settled a hand in his pocket, appraising her as a smile stretched across his face. 

“Fuck me,” he breathed, the words crawling directly beneath Hermione’s skin and igniting rivulets of desire in her veins. The hand that had been in his hair found its way to his tie, already loosening it as he stood, staring. Any trace of the effects of his long week dissipated in the crackle of want behind his eyes. 

Hermione smiled, feeling bold, feeling beautiful.

“That’s the plan, darling,” she said. “I’ve worn your favorite color and everything.”

He chuckled, closing the distance between them, backing her up and caging her against the foot of the bed in the time it took her to blink and wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“Don’t you know?” he said into her neck, lips already doing the damage she’d hoped for. “Any color is my favorite when it’s on you.”


End file.
